


and in the morning

by theyneeddrying



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Consent Issues, M/M, PWP, survival prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyneeddrying/pseuds/theyneeddrying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Merlin runs out of money for food, desperate measures are in order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and in the morning

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [this prompt](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/2936.html?thread=1215608#t1215608) at KMM.

For the first time in his life, Merlin Emrys was thankful that they’d never had a lot of money when he was a kid. Thankful that he knew what it was like, having to count every coin as you spent it, buying only the bare necessities – going to bed with enough food in your belly to stay healthy and strong, but rarely more than that. Yes, he’d thought he was pretty well-prepared for a life of relative poverty, while he tried to work his way through university (and failed miserably, as some of his teachers had predicted. But Merlin was nothing if not stubborn). 

But things didn’t work out the way Merlin had hoped, and nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of sheer _hunger_ gnawing at his insides, painful and numb by turns, or for the waves of nausea that assailed him when he tried to find his feet in the morning. Nothing had prepared him for the tiredness weighing down his head, his brain, or the way that feeling sometimes left him only to be replaced by an unusual lightness that had his mind reeling, world out of focus and tilting strangely around him. 

That was the state of mind that had lead him here, telling himself his feet were going nowhere in particular as his mouth kept watering at the mere thought of food. And then he stepped into the street, _the_ street, and wondered what the fuck he thought he was doing, nausea curling lazily inside him. He looked at the other men, there, leaning against walls under the unflattering streetlight, some chatting to one another, some smoking, and all dressed in some way they seemed to think was appealing.

Merlin looked down. He was wearing a pair of old, baggy jeans, and a jumper that had seen better days. He laughed, light-headed, a little crazy, perhaps, a little desperate, and headed down the street, feeling a surprising lack of fear, his mind drifting between the various options left to him. He thought of calling his mum, asking her if he could borrow some money again, thought of the disappointment he heard in her voice every time. The worry. He thought of the last job he’d lost, serving food in a grubby cafeteria, unable to keep his temper around some dick who thought he could insult Merlin’s mother just because he’d paid for the food. Merlin hadn’t hit him, had reined himself in this time, and thought they might have cut him some slack, but apparently calling a customer a fucking knob without a head was not done. Well. That was that, then.

He was hungry. God, he was hungry, and he felt that his stomach had finally given up and started on a bit of cannibalisation, nibbling at its own walls, juices licking greedily. 

And somehow, he ended up leaning against the wall, a little further up from the other guys, and he realised he was shivering a little, but couldn’t have said whether it was from cold, from hunger or from fear. He laughed again, tried to control his shaking limbs, and stared at the others, just for something to do. 

They were eyeing him suspiciously, and only then did it occur to him he might be impinging on someone’s territory. Like in the films. Christ, maybe some pimp was about to jump out of a car and get his cronies to beat Merlin up. That would be just his luck, really. Or maybe, he thought, as he saw one of them move, they were going to take care of it themselves. In the end, the guy in question merely crushed his fag, giving Merlin a dirty look, but his blood was suddenly racing, and it made him strangely aware of his own weakness. He was in no state, no state whatsoever to take anyone on in a fight and –

And then some bloke walked into the street, some short fella wearing a long raincoat (Merlin would have laughed, except the hilarity had suddenly left him) and an ugly nose, and walked up to a young guy in purple jeans. The boy smiled winningly, and lead the dirty old man into the dark alley to the right, and Merlin though, Jesus fucking Christ, what am I doing here? What am I fucking doing here? The lightness of earlier had tipped into an unreasonable blend of panic and unease, and he had to bloody get out of there, right the fuck now, God, and, of course, that was when a hand closed around his shoulder.

He tensed, mind torn between fight and flight, and then turned around with a vague feeling of resignation. He half expected to get punched in the face before even getting a look at the guy, but found himself staring at eyes that were an eerie shade of blue under the electric lighting instead. Merlin felt that did not bode well. He looked at his shoulder, noted the ring on the man’s finger, and he wondered whether he was having an encounter with a pimp, after all, his pulse cranking up a notch, while he damned his bloody lack of food to hell – he was going to need every bit of his concentration to beat this guy in a fight.

“How much?”

It took Merlin’s brain a few seconds to realise it was being spoken to, and then quite a few more to make sense of it. He may have stared a little vacantly in the meantime. When he finally figured it all out, a different kind of nervousness settled into his gut, no doubt spurred on by the haziness of his mind, and he blurted the first thing that came to his mind, which turned out to be:

“Fifty quid.”

Which actually made no sense at all, because Merlin hadn’t said _for what_ , which he was pretty sure he was meant to, and also, _fifty quid_. Judging by the raise of his eyebrow, Creepy Eyes – who fucking still had Merlin’s shoulder in a pretty firm grip, and Merlin’s muscles were tense all over – was completely onto him. Which was fine with Merlin, really, all he wanted to do was get out of there – he’d go home and drink four glasses of tepid tap water, letting it fill his stomach, and then he would curl up on his bed, and sleep, and if he was really lucky, who knew, he may not even wake up in the morning (not a thought that crossed his mind very often, because Merlin was going to prove to the world that he was so much fucking better than they thought he was, but he was tired, so tired, and _nothing_ ever seemed to work out).

But the guy just shifted his eyes a little lower, with something like a smirk curling his lips.

“Fifty quid for that pretty mouth of yours?”

And, fuck, could he sound like more of a cliché? Merlin felt his hackles rise at last, something in the tone of the guy’s voice that just set his teeth on edge, not to mention -. Well. That. His mouth settled into an aggressive tilt before he could even think about it, and he looked the guy straight in the eye, glaring.

“Yeah,” he said, in his most insolent tone, because there wasn’t even the slightest possibility that Blondie (seriously, what self-respecting bloke dyed his hair in quite that shade?) was being serious. He may not be entirely sure how much his “pretty mouth” was worth, but he was pretty certain that fifty pounds was completely outrageous.

Blondie threw Merlin a sardonic look, mostly in response to his insolence, Merlin was sure, but then his eyes dropped lower and he stared at Merlin’s mouth, head tilted in thought. Merlin’s temper rose even further at that – honestly, who did this guy think he was, and he felt the flush creeping up his cheeks. The unnaturally blue eyes left his mouth to trail up to an undoubtedly red cheekbone, and he said,

“All right.”

And he was bloody _smirking_ at Merlin, amused and not the slightest bit thrown by Merlin’s sour expression, and bloody hell. Merlin wanted to punch him, feeling suddenly alive. It might not be a good idea, but it would make him feel better. 

Blondie just held Merlin’s furious gaze, and Merlin thought he could read, _come on, then, I dare you_ in his expression, and Merlin nearly did deck him, but he was a bit slower than usual, a bit hazier, and just then his stomach gave a painful clench. And Christ, fifty quid. If the guy wasn’t having him on, at least, and maybe punched Merlin’s teeth out, after, leaving him for dead in a ditch.

But it wasn’t as though Merlin had much left to lose, after all.

The hand clenched harder around his shoulder for a moment, and then Blondie said, 

“Well, come on, then,” and actually _guided_ Merlin towards the dark alley he’d seen purple-jean guy disappear into, earlier. He clearly knew his way around, which was more than could be said of Merlin, who tripped over a loose piece of pavement on the second step. Blondie huffed a laugh, which Merlin found most offensive, glaring at him, but as he’d finally let the shoulder go, Merlin was feeling forgiving.

The alley was every bit as grubby-looking as Merlin had expected, non-descript filth littering the ground in the shady, claustrophobic atmosphere, and if he squinted, he could see someone with both hands against a wall further up, and what looked like a trench coat fucking him. His stomach gave another lurch, this time in remembrance of what he was meant to do here. He’d only vaguely thought about it before coming here, hunger overruling everything else, convincing himself it was just like a one-night stand. He was suddenly reminded of the fact that he didn’t particularly enjoy those, either. 

Blondie eventually leaned against the grubby back of a house, looking completely at ease, and also completely ridiculous with that ring on his finger, quite that shade of blond hair, and that tilt of his head and his mouth, which made him look liked a spoilt brat who spent most of his time pouting to get his way. His eyes were trained casually on Merlin.

“Well, go on. Haven’t got all day.” But he sounded more amused than annoyed, and Merlin didn’t have the heart to do more than throw him an irritated look, now that nervousness (discomfort, really, Merlin was _not_ nervous because of this poncy prat) had taken hold of him.

Merlin carefully kneeled in front of him, feeling ridiculously vulnerable, unwanted blush burning his face, and making sure he didn’t put his knees on anything too bad, like, say, a syringe, because it looked like just that kind of place. 

He looked up, breathed deeply, and thought, all right, one-night stand, he could do this, because even if those hadn’t been the best nights of his life, he’d still come out of them all right, hadn’t he? And this guy, well, he supposed it could be worse – it was ridiculous, really, some people might even call him a bit of a looker: well-built, reasonably attractive face if you looked past the smug expression, even if he wasn’t Merlin’s type at all. Expensive clothes, too, even though he was only wearing jeans and a hoodie – but they were of an entirely different quality than Merlin’s own. Not a raincoat in sight, and Merlin should count himself lucky.

He wondered, then, as he reached out a hand to stroke the guy’s dick through his pants, just in the V of his opened trousers – and there was nothing weird about that, no, don’t look at the guy’s face, this was perfectly normal, he’d done this before, just breathe, Merlin, put your fingers there, and _fuck_ , he was already half-hard, casually pushing into Merlin’s hand – what would drive a man like that into this part of town. Blondie had the wholesome, good-looking Christian boy look down pat, and Merlin knew the type, the kind that didn’t want the rest of the world to know about what some might think of as his less savoury inclinations.

That thought had Merlin, who’d never bothered to hide who he was, smirking, and he felt more self-confident pulling the guy’s trousers down his thighs, underwear following. 

“Busy night, then?”

“Yeah,” Merlin lied easily. “You’re my third today.”

“You must be very in demand. Explains the price, then. You had better be worth it.” 

Merlin couldn’t get over the feeling that the guy was mocking him, but then he was staring at a lot of naked skin, and he got a little distracted. The first thing Merlin noticed, strangely, was that he smelled good – fresh, clean, and a little of laundry detergent. Then Merlin’s hand was closing on bare skin, and he tried not to think too much about that. He felt a little distant, then, as though someone else were here in his stead, and he was just watching, his hand automatically going through the motions, stroking, investigating, watching the cock jerk in his grip. 

“Haven’t – ah – seen you around before.”

“Come here a lot, do you?” Merlin didn’t bother suppressing his smirk.

“… That’s the general idea, yes.”

“Hah,” he replied eloquently, because really, if the guy had the sense of humour of a twelve year old, Merlin wasn’t going to be impressed.

He felt he was in just about the right state of mind to carry this out. He could do this on auto-pilot, if his mind decided it didn’t care that much, distant and numb, and he could maybe also stop caring about the fact that he didn’t have a condom, given that he’d had no money left to buy them, and yeah, it looked as though this guy had been around some, who knew what diseases he was carrying? He was probably keeping a tally. Part of Merlin’s mind was laughing, amused at the fact that he’d sunk so low, but it wasn’t as though he could sink much further, was it?

So, yeah, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and leaned in, revelling in the stillness of his mind – and then found himself stopped by a hand on his face, thumb rubbing at the corner of his mouth.

Merlin was maybe a little bit annoyed.

“What’s your name?”

“Hot dude eighty-four,” he deadpanned, and if he thought that would get on the other guy’s nerves, he was sorely disappointed. Blondie laughed outright, thumb stilling for a moment, and:

“Really? That’s. Well, not very original, actually.”

And then he was stroking his thumb lazily over Merlin’s bottom lip (what the hell?), which made Merlin feel uncomfortable enough to blurt,

“Merlin,” and at a raised eyebrow, “My name’s Merlin.” Not like anyone ever believed him, anyway. He tried to dive back in, to get this over with, but the hand just tightened on his face.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to offer up some protection before sucking on some stranger’s dick, then, _Merlin_? Your manners are really quite appalling.” 

Merlin’s jaw clenched, and he glared.

“I ran out of condoms. Too many pathetic buggers desperate for a fuck. Besides, seems that I’m the one most at risk here, aren’t I? So I don’t see what you’re complaining about.”

Blondie heaved a very put-upon sigh, and started poking around in his jeans.

“High maintenance, aren’t you? Bloody hookers, not what they used to be,” and he fished out his wallet. It looked expensive, and Merlin wondered for a moment how much cash he would be carrying – fucking bankcards, nowadays – and if he could get away with –

But then he slipped out a condom, handing it to Merlin, and the moment passed. Merlin wasn’t quite sure he would have made it out alive, anyway, with the way his hands were now faintly shaking, the way they seemed to much too often lately.

“Well, you’re clearly the expert,” he muttered, a little surprised at the gesture.

Blondie huffed, then taunted, “God knows where your mouth has been,” and Merlin’s hand nearly crushed the foil wrapper. He wondered whether he made a convincing rent boy, after all.

“Put it on,” Blondie said, just for the pleasure of ordering Merlin around, he was sure.

He somehow managed to open the package in spite of his shaking hands, but had to calm himself for a moment, taking a deep breath, before placing the rubber against the tip of the guy’s prick, and then:

“Use your mouth.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Use your mouth. To put it on,” and he cocked his head expectantly.

Merlin stared for a moment; apparently the guy really did think this was Merlin’s day-job, because, uh, he couldn’t see that ending well.

It turned out he was right. He forgot all about the fact that he was about to suck off a complete stranger in light of concentrating all his brain function on getting the bloody rubber rolled down said stranger’s dick, but, hey, Merlin had never made it a secret that he didn’t have much brain function left. He struggled for maybe half a minute, getting increasingly annoyed, using his lips and then his tongue, but he nearly dropped it at first, and then the bloody thing wouldn’t roll down quite properly like this, and when he pulled back, the condom wasn’t even halfway on.

He scowled and used his hands to pull it down properly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d blushed this much, and he really wished he’d just stayed at home and starved if that was what it took. He looked up, suspicious at the lack of complaint, and realised Blondie was laughing at him, which only made Merlin glare harder, and then his bloody hand came up again, this time to stroke his thumb along the heated curve of Merlin’s cheekbone.

His erection, all this time, had not flagged even a little bit, in spite of Merlin’s clumsy antics, and it suddenly dawned on Merlin: _he was getting off on that_.

Bloody fucking pervert.

“It’s a good thing you’re so pretty,” Blondie chuckled, now brushing his knuckles along Merlin’s cheek.

Merlin opened his mouth to impart his new favourite nicknames for the arsehole standing in front of him, no doubt losing another job, and not caring one bit, when the fingers on his cheek slipped into his hair. He tensed and his mouth abruptly snapped shut. Merlin had a _thing_ about letting people put their hands in his hair, see, a thing where he only let people he trusted do that, even when he wasn’t already feeling unbalanced because of the lethargy just waiting to take over his limbs, especially when – fuck, this was just _not fair_ – they slid their hands to the back of his head, to that spot just above his neck, because, because…

Blondie pressed his fingers exactly there, hauling Merlin in – and Merlin, well, Merlin sort of helplessly fell forward. Onto the guy’s dick.

Which was lucky, really.

It took him a moment to get used to the feeling of a cock in his mouth again – God, how long had it been since Merlin had done this with anyone? Since Merlin had done _anything_ with anyone? – and he hesitated for a moment, considered getting up and buggering off (hah), but then he gave it an experimental suck, and Blondie moaned, _oh, fuck, yeah_ , and, yeah. Just like riding a bike, when you thought about it.

So he settled in, thinking the quicker it was over, the better for him, and licked and sucked as well as he knew how. It was embarrassing how much his mouth watered just at having something in it, his stomach clenching excitedly as he swallowed down saliva, encouraging him to suck ever more eagerly – and he was trying not to laugh or go completely insane. It would also have all gone a lot easier if the other guy – the guy he sort of had pinned to the wall, for God’s sake – would keep his hands to himself. Instead, he insisted on stroking the back of Merlin’s head, alternately just running his fingers through the hair, then pulling Merlin’s mouth back down on his cock. Merlin would deny the shivers that ran down his back till the day he died.

If he maybe paused every now and then to just suck on the head, well, he had to at least keep up a pretence of being a professional, didn’t he?

“Fuck, yeah, Merlin, come on. So good. Knew you’d be so good at this. Just look at that mouth of yours, God. Made for this. You love this, don’t you, oh, oh, yeah, _that_ …”

And that’s how it went on. Merlin was rather proud of the fact that he managed not to roll his eyes, even once.

“You’re so pretty like this, you know. So fucking pretty. You should see yourself, _fuck_. Yeah, that’s. Nice. Fuck… Look so good on your knees. On your knees, for me, taking it like an eager little slut.” 

Merlin scowled up at that, losing his rhythm, but, Christ. There was only so much he would stand for. His hand was still wrapped around the base of the guy’s cock, but he pulled his mouth off, hoping his irritation came through loud and clear.

Blondie seemed annoyingly unperturbed, half-lidded eyes looking down at him, fucking himself a little in Merlin’s fist. 

“Move your hand. C’mon.” 

When Merlin finally did, a bit resentfully, Blondie moaned, and then his free hand, the one _not_ buried in his hair, came up to brush Merlin’s now spit-slick mouth again. His lips were a little more sensitive than they had been earlier, a little swollen from the friction, and Merlin was about to put an end to this nonsense and pull away, when a thumb was pushed gently into his mouth. It ran over the inside of his bottom lip, then over his upper gums, then pushed between his teeth to rub over his tongue, as if to feel the texture of it. 

Merlin was so baffled by this he forgot to move away. 

His thumb kept exploring Merlin’s mouth, pressing to the inside of Merlin’s cheeks, pushing gently under his tongue, and Merlin thought, _this is fucking weird_ , narrowing his eyes and thinking this would be an excellent time to go. But getting up would requite effort; he wasn’t sure his legs could handle it right now, and he couldn’t help but stare at the flush that had crept up the guy’s cheeks, clearly visible even in the half-gloom, and his voice sounded broken and fat with want, when he murmured: “Wanna fuck your mouth.” And then, several moments later, “yeah?” and “Let me,” not quite a question.

Merlin was frozen to the ground, mind wavering between what to do, and he didn’t know which of them was shaking as he was guided forward again, the tip of Blondie’s cock brushing his mouth, allowing gentle fingers to pry his lips open again, allowing the guy to slide in. He didn’t hold still and let Merlin do all the work this time, but pushed in and out, gently at first, pushing just slightly further in than Merlin had taken him. Gooseflesh broke out all over Merlin’s skin, and his fingers were now scrabbling slowly at the ground, as though he could use them to push himself up and away. But his limbs seemed to have lost the last of their strength, and he just sat there, letting the guy take him.

Then, his hips started snapping forward more brutally, fucking Merlin’s mouth for real, now, Merlin’s hands gripping the back of the guy’s thighs for balance, prick pushing past any point Merlin would call comfortable, fingers clenched painfully in Merlin’s hair, holding him and taking, taking, taking, one thumb incongruously stroking soothingly over the pulse-point in Merlin’s neck, and it was just _too much_ , Merlin didn’t – . And then he pushed his foot between Merlin’s thighs, right against his painfully hard cock, and Merlin couldn’t help jerking forward, into it, a full-body movement, choking himself a little further on the cock in his mouth, a moan working its way through.

And then he really did wrench himself loose, pulling his mouth away, one hand clamping painfully around the guy’s ankle, snarling, “Don’t,” before pushing him back against the wall by his hip.

Blondie just stared down at him, panting, and Merlin wished he’d do something, call Merlin on his behaviour or tell him to fuck off, or possibly try and _make_ him and right now Merlin felt like that would be just wonderful, because adrenaline was making his blood pound and he was just waiting for an excuse to lash out, to break this horrible tension. But when he finally opened his mouth, the guy just said, “Finish me.”

After several moments in which he tried to calm down, Merlin pushed Blondie’s foot all the way against the wall, as far away from Merlin as possible, and finally let go of the ankle, slowly moving his hand up to wrap around the guy’s dick. Merlin started jerking him off, clumsy with the tension that was still running through his veins, but Blondie’s head fell back against the wall, anyway, and he moaned helplessly, trying to push into Merlin’s grip against the hand on his hip still pinning him to the wall. It didn’t take long for him to come, biting his lip in an attempt to stifle his groan, shuddering under Merlin’s hands.

After, he looked at Merlin again, one of his hands coming up to hover near a cheek; but seeming to think better of it, he let it drop by his side, bowing his head before a cheeky grin finally curled his mouth.

“Well, that was… interesting.”

“Glad you enjoyed yourself,” Merlin said tersely, and then realised he was still holding onto the guy’s bare hip. He let it go and started dragging himself up from the ground, head spinning and legs shaking, half-embarrassed about the clumsiness of his movements, half not caring. 

Blondie gave him a funny look, eyes quickly running over him, almost leaning into Merlin’s space, before his expression smoothed over, eyes still keen. “I wasn’t too much for you, was I?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Merlin shrugged, carefully casual, and the guy’s chin tipped down in some kind of acknowledgement, compelling Merlin to add, “Third tonight, remember? Though I have to say you were the rudest prat of them all.”

“Third time lucky, then,” he said, smirking, offering Merlin his hand. Merlin was about to scoff, when he noticed the fifty-pound note. After everything, he almost couldn’t believe he was getting paid what he asked for. He took the note reverently, trying not to touch the other guy’s hand, but fingers brushed his skin, anyway, and he had to suppress a shiver.

“Will you be here again next week?”

“Who knows?” Merlin said, thinking, _fuck, no, never again_ , not taking his eyes off the money now in his own hand.

“Work in mysterious ways, do you?” The guy huffed a laugh.

“Well, I’m a famous sorcerer, after all. I might be busy turning inconsiderate knobs into ugly toads next week, doing the world a favour and all.” 

“Hm, yes, I see. Interesting occupation. Must make you a lot of money. By the way, my name’s Arthur. Appropriate, don’t you think?” he smirked. “Seems to me we are destined to meet once more, and I can’t wait to see you work your magic for me again, _Merlin_.” And with an appraising look that made Merlin want to throw a shoe at his head, he turned around and – finally – fucked off.

Merlin leaned against the wall, feeling shaky and vaguely nauseous, and noticed the other pair had left. He hadn’t noticed them going. The air was cool but a bit heavy, leaving Merlin’s skin with a clammy sheen, and all he wanted to do was close his eyes and go to sleep, standing up if necessary. He turned his face into the bricks, blissfully cold against his skin, distracting him from the way his insides were quivering, and not with hunger alone.

He stood there for two minutes, trying to clear his mind, and when that didn’t work, he undid his jeans with numb fingers, and slipped in his hand. He jerked himself off with too-rough, too-appropriate strokes, gasping wetly against the wall, lips scratching faintly against the surface. It took him far too long, his body humming with an overwhelming pleasure, muscles taut while his limbs melted in torturous bliss, completion just out of reach as though he didn’t have enough energy left to get there. When he finally wrenched an orgasm from himself, it was almost painful, a cry falling drily from his lips, his vision going completely, and he ended up in a pile on the ground. 

When he recovered his brain functions, he realised he was still holding the money, a small splatter of come adorning a corner. He wiped it away mindlessly, not caring about the stains on his trousers. He had fifty pounds to spend, glorious, glorious food to eat, and he closed his eyes for a moment, a warm feeling spreading inside of him, imagining the first delectable bite, and felt his mouth stretch into a smile, directed at the sky overhead.

Tomorrow – tomorrow, with a belly full of food and his usual energy regained, he was going to look for another job, and he wasn’t going to give up, until he found one. 

For now, though, he was just going to enjoy what he had.


End file.
